


Flash Dance

by KellCavs



Category: Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, What Have I Done, and here we are, i said i wouldn't write for him until i saw the movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellCavs/pseuds/KellCavs
Summary: Maxwell is not one that is easily distracted. He prides himself on it. But he sees someone who he finds very distracting indeed. The question is, will she find him as charming as he is on TV?Previously titled: A Little Distraction
Relationships: Maxwell Lord/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Maxwell Lord was not an easily distracted man. It was how he made it so far in life so quickly. He prided himself on his ability to stay focused, to juggle a million things at once. 

He had assistants for the billion other things, sure, but he liked having his hands full. It kept him busy, kept it so his competitors couldn't say he just sat behind a desk growing roots in his chair. He bounced from board meeting to board meeting to...  _ bored _ meeting. Not all of them could be exciting (like he was). Some of those old fogies from other companies sure knew how to drone. And drone. And drone.

Currently, he was en route to another one of the million meetings he had that week before he had to fly to Gotham next week for... that thing he forgot. 

Maxwell sighed, grabbed his travel mug full of undoubtedly cold coffee and his briefcase before he was headed towards the elevator.

"Karen!" he called out to his assistant as he waited for the doors to open, "I'm headed to the Peterson meeting. I should be back by three, provided his coke dealer came through. Swear to Christ that guy can go through  _ War and Peace _ in twenty minutes when he's using. If I'm not back by then, wrap up here and then go down to the hotel and make sure the ball room is set up for Friday. I don't want a repeat of last time. And then--"

"Mr. Lord," Karen said softly, "Relax. You've got nothing to worry about. I'll handle everything here. Go to your meeting and try not to fall asleep, okay?" 

She came over and lifted the silver mug from his hands and replaced it with a sleek black one that felt warmer to the touch than the previous one. 

Maxwell nodded his thanks to her and backed into the elevator. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you!" he called out as the doors shut. 

He was on the phone in his limo the second the driver pulled away from the curb. It was constant  _ go go go  _ with Maxwell. It was the life he was used to, the life he'd made for himself. Not that he cared. He didn't have anyone waiting for him at home or anyone to stand up on a date. In fact he --

"Hey, Lawrence!" he called into the car phone when the person on the other end picked up. "Look, tomorrow's meeting, is there any way we can move that up an hour? I have -- Yeah, double booked myself again. No problem. By the way, I was looking at that report your intern filed, what's his name, uh, Simmons. Great stuff. You might have a new partner in a year or two with that kinda research he did--"

Maxwell leaned back in his seat as Lawrence started to brag about his intern's work. His drone would distract him enough from the twenty minutes of traffic he was going to sit through on the way to the Peterson meeting.

His driver turned around to let him know there was some kind of accident on the bridge and they were stuck in traffic. Typical.

Somehow, he and Lawrence got to talking about trade deals and mergers and last quarter's numbers. Maxwell could recite those figures in his sleep - he was only half paying attention to the call anyway. 

He took a drink from his coffee mug and glanced out the window at the street signs. Review and Winslow Avenue. Movement inside the building on the corner caught his eye and he squinted through the tinted glass of his window to try and make it out. 

A dozen or so young women were dancing in unison, following one woman at the front of the room as she shouted instructions at them. 

Maxwell looked up at the sign above the large window to read the name.  _ Uptown Aerobics.  _ The sign also stated it was a ballet, hiphop, and zumba studio. 

He glanced back down at the dancers and his eyes locked onto the instructor at the front of the room. 

Her hair was pulled up from her face in a pink sweatband and she was completely oblivious to her voyeur as she instructed her class into their next part of the routine. 

Maxwell reached down to adjust himself in his pants as he watched her unstick her teal leotard from her dance tights. She clapped her hands and walked over to a boom box to press a button as the rest of the girls stretched out their arms and legs. 

He felt dirty as he watched the instructor - like he shouldn't be seeing this. He felt like a peeping Tom, despite the fact anyone could look in and watch. 

"Lord, are you still there?" Lawrence's voice eventually broke through to him. "Hello? Hello?"

"Y-yeah, I'm still here," he stammered. "Sorry, signal isn't good on these damn phones. I'll, uh... I'll call you back later."

He hung up the phone without waiting to hear a reply and turned his attention back to the studio. 

Maxwell watched the instructor, his attention focused on the way she smiled and shouted directions he couldn't hear. He felt himself chub up in his pants despite the fact that he tried  _ very _ hard to not focus on her leotard or her legs or her chest bouncing beneath the spandex. He couldn't face the judgement if he were to walk into the meeting with a stiff cock. He just couldn't do it.

He regretfully pulled his eyes away from the window and back to his notes from last month's sales. It was agony to read, but it would stop his boner faster than anything else he could think of.

"My sister goes to that studio," his driver said as he tried to strike up a casual conversation with his boss. 

"Huh?" Maxwell muttered as he tried his hardest to sound indifferent. 

"My little sister Vicky, she goes to this studio right here. I remember sitting at her practices before she was old enough to take the bus by herself. She goes to UCLA for ballet now."

Maxwell nodded and glanced at the studio, hoping his acting was good enough to fool his driver.

"Yeah, the original owner died a few years ago. She left it to her neice or something like that. It hasn't been doing well I guess. All those VHS tapes that ladies can order to their houses are putting it out of business, I guess."

"Tapes?" Maxwell watched the instructor with rapt attention.

"Yeah," the driver said. "Ladies can order all these dance routines on tape. It's cheaper than going to a studio I guess."

Maxwell opened his mouth to reply, but the driver spoke again. 

"Oh, Mr. Lord, we're moving again. You might make it to your meeting after all!"

"Great," he muttered, reaching down to adjust himself again.

Two days later, Maxwell Lord surprised everyone by  _ walking  _ to the coffee shop down the street from the office and getting his own coffee. He'd gone under the pretense of wanting to surprise Karen with fancy coffee and pastries for her birthday before she came in, which wasn't a lie. He was feeling particularly generous that week, after all.

After his meeting two days earlier, he had gone back to his office and personally wrote a check for what was quite possibly enough to buy the whole block the little studio was on. He didn't mind. Actually, he was barely paying attention. All he could think about was the young woman from the studio.

He had sent an intern down to the studio with the check in an envelope addressed to the owner. 

So here he was, walking down Review street with a drink carrier and a bag of pastries like he was some snot-nosed intern. He'd hoped no one would notice him as he stood outside the studio windows, watching the early morning class warm up.

A different instructor, blonde, with two-toned eyeshadow, caught him staring. She angrily threw off the headset and stormed over to the door. 

"Hey!" she shouted. "Beat it, you perv! Or I'll call the cops!"

Maxwell reeled. He hadn't even noticed how long he'd been there. Or the fact it may have come through as creepy that he was watching, waiting for a glimpse of the other instructor.

"Did you hear me, creep? I said beat it!" she repeated. She let go of the door to approach him. 

"I-- I'm sorry, I was just--"

"Yeah yeah, I don't wanna hear your weird fetish. Get lost!"

The bell to the studio door tinkled as it opened up again. 

"Laurie? What's going on?" 

Maxwell swallowed thickly. It was the instructor from the other day. 

"Oh, I caught this guy watching the girls," the first girl, Laurie, said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'll talk to him," she replied coolly. "Go back inside, okay?"

Laurie rolled her eyes and walked back inside. "Whatever," she muttered.

The woman before Maxwell glared at him. Her gaze was calculating, as if she were thinking very carefully about what to say next. 

"I know who you are," she hummed.

Maxwell glanced nervously around at the otherwise empty street.

"You don't --- this isn't what it looks like."

"Oh, please," she chuckled. "I know you."


	2. Chapter 2

"Y-you don't know me," Maxwell stammered. "Please, this really isn't what it looks like."

He was more than well aware of what this could do to his image. Imagine if word got out that Maxwell Lord was a pervert? Stocks would drop faster than he could imagine. And his pride? Well, it would be nonexistent. He  _ wasn't  _ a pervert, but that isn't how his investors would see it. 

"Mr. Lord, may we discuss this in my office?"

He was stunned when she turned on her heel and walked into the studio. He glanced at his watch and shook his head before he followed her inside.

The ladies were still in the middle of warm ups and stretches when he passed. He heard them whispering his name. They recognized him. Everyone did. Everyone knew who he was. 

The young woman shut the door to her office when he joined her. She perched at the corner of her desk and gestured to one of the vibrantly patterned chairs in front of her. 

Her position was one Maxwell was familiar with. Being on the receiving end of that look was incredibly uncomfortable and he realized this is what employees and investors see all the time from him. He swallowed nervously as he took a seat before her. 

"You sent me a pretty sizable check," she replied, tucking one leg beneath her. "So now what, are you scoping out the property? What are you gonna put here? Tanning salon for your cronies? I'm surprised you came down here yourself. Don't you guys have like, a scout or something?"

Maxwell looked up at her, shocked. "It's not-- it isn't like that, really," he said. He was mentally kicking himself. He'd had this whole suave speech planned and everything. Flash that dazzling smile. But honestly, this was not the reaction he usually got from people when he gave them a check of  _ that  _ size. He had never been met with hostility as thanks for cash. 

She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. "Mr. Lord, I don't know what you're up to, but know this: I am not getting rid of this property. I'm not interested in selling."

Maxwell dug his nails into his palms as he stared up at her from his seat in the chair. He suddenly became aware that he did  _ not  _ like to be in this submissive position. 

He shot out of his seat like it had burned him. Honestly, he was more surprised by her abrasive personality than anything. What had he expected her to be like? Not this callous woman before him, for sure. He could be angry too, make no mistake.

"Listen here, sweetheart," he grumbled, his face dangerously close to hers. "I'm not interested in buying your little studio."

"So you were just feeling generous then?" she scoffed. She brought her fists up in a gesture that mirrored his from television. "Want us to 'achieve greatness' or whatever? Can't have a business on your block tank? Bad for your image?"

Maxwell was floored by how forward she was with the whole deal. "It isn't like that. Please. I..."

She scoffed and pushed herself off her desk. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much, compared to Maxwell. 

Instinctively, he puffed out his chest. It was a move that worked in previous business transactions several times before. He didn't come here to intimidate anyone.

She squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips. The gesture pushed her chest forward slightly, on full display for him.

Maxwell glanced down and then swallowed thickly. 

"I just heard your business might not be doing well," he mumbled. "I'm not interested in buying this building - or any building."

"I never knew Maxwell Lord to be a charitable man," she muttered as she jutted her hip to the side. "What's the catch?"

He held up one hand to dismiss any thoughts she might have. If there was one thing he disliked, it was assumptions about him. He knew people had plenty, and if he could stop them when they came to light, well, he did everything he could.

"No catch. I just... got stuck in traffic right outside the other day. I saw you in the window and, uh... my driver. He got to talking about how his sister went here. Told me it might be struggling."

The young woman eyed him suspiciously, her own eyes searching his, trying desperately to find a lie. Satisfied when she deemed him to be telling the truth, she gave a nonchalant shrug.

"And if we aren't? You want your money back or something?"

"Keep it. Renovate the place or something if you want."

Maxwell grabbed the cup carrier and pastry bag and turned to go without another word. As he stormed out of the studio, he wasn't sure if the thumping in his ears was due to the loud bass of the aerobics music or from his own heartbeat in his ear drums. 

_ What a fucking embarrassment that was, Lord.  _

  
  


It was nearly a month later before he saw her again. Three separate corporate dinners, two major board (bored) meetings, and one uneventful trip to Gotham until he saw her. 

Maxwell was on a Wednesday afternoon lunch meeting with a few board members at some bistro on Fifth. He was not paying attention to a single thing that had been said after his second whiskey neat, the mindless drivel of big business that was just so  _ fucking boring.  _ He hated the way they talked about their attractive young interns and the secretaries they hired and then slept with behind the backs of their wives. The secret double lives they left. 

It all sickened him. 

He was clenching and unclenching his fist on his thigh, trying to think of either an excuse to get up and leave or a good reason to punch Mitchel Sandusky in the side of the head when he saw her. 

She was seated with another young woman at the little Mediterranean bistro across the street where he was currently trying not to die in. 

Maxwell felt his throat close up just a tiny bit and he gave a cough to try and distract himself. He couldn't believe it. Their first meeting hadn't exactly gone the way he had wanted it to and, while he was almost certain she didn't want to see him again, he was still thrilled with the prospect of how close she was to him. 

If he could just get out of here...

"Gentlemen," he said, mortified with the slight waver in his voice, "I should--"

"You still have that ancient hag secretary of yours, Lord? What was her name? Katherine?"

"Karen," he said tersely.

"She must be real sweet in the sheets if you keep her around, eh, Maxwell?" joked Brian Taylor, some young money douchebag from out west. He made a repulsive squealing noise that caused Young, one of his partners, to snort water through his nose.

"She's the only one I found competent enough not to fuck up my busy schedule," Maxwell snapped. "And she's not ancient. She's, like, forty. Her birthday was like, a month ago."

"Well, I wouldn't want to have to look at her all day," muttered Gavin Oren, a tech CEO from midtown. "I can fix her up with a good plastic surgeon. He only gets a little handsy with his female clientele."

Maxwell felt bile rise in his throat. He really needed to get out of here before he killed someone.

The young waitress came over, blessedly, and Maxwell took that as his cue and excuse to leave. He paid his bill, muttered some half-assed bullshit excuse about having to check on a project, and headed towards the door. 

Through the curtains, he could still see the dance instructor and her friend seated at the table across the street. 

He quickly made a dash for the crosswalk and half-jogged across the road to where she was seated. Before he approached the table, he glanced in the window of a nearby jewelry store, fixed his hair and adjusted his tie. 

"-- with Robbie? Gross, no!" squealed the dancer's friend between sips of her diet Coke. "I'd rather choke!"

"Mary Beth, really? He's like, a lawyer now, right?"

"Yeah, but he-- can we help you?"

Both girls turned to face Maxwell as he stood over their table. He swallowed thickly and looked down at the young woman he'd only barely spoken with.

"Can we talk?"

Mary Beth scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Look, Janine, I gotta go anyway. Frito is done at the groomers. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

The dark-haired woman gathered her jacket and bag and scooted around Maxwell and down the street.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Maxwell said bluntly.

"Yeah, I think we did too," she said coolly. She took a drink from her glass and gestured wordlessly at the now unoccupied chair across from her.

"You wanna explain to me why you sent me a check that big? And don't give me that excuse that you heard my studio is failing or whatever," she said, crossing her arms.

"I just... saw you through the window and I thought you were pretty..."

She let out a bark of laughter and raised her eyebrows at him. "And you thought what? You'd write me a check to try and win me over or something? I really can't believe you'd think I could be won over so easily. I'm not like that. It takes more than money or gifts or... whatever, okay?"

"It isn't like that? Please. Look, can we, I don't know, start over?"

She sighed and chewed on her lip. "Fine. But I don't want any of your put-on horseshit I see on TV. Just two people, got it?"

Maxwell tensed for a moment and then nodded. "Fine." He stuck out his hand for her to shake. "Maxwell Lord."

"Janine Reeder." She said softly as she took his hand. 

He glanced at her hand when she shook it. Plastic bracelets, one thin band on her finger, chipped pink nail polish. So very different than other hands he'd shaken over the years. It felt more fucking genuine than any interaction ever in his entire life. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is trying his hardest to figure out the proper way to Janine's heart.

Maxwell found that trying to win over someone instead of just buying their affection was exhausting. He was thrilled with the idea of coming up with new ways to try and win Janine over, to make her smile, to make her laugh. It was harder than he thought, but at the same time, he didn't mind the effort. It made him feel good. Like he was doing something because he wanted to, not because it would benefit his company in any way or make his investors more money. 

The idea of earning someone's attention was... nice.

Maxwell was on the verge of asking Karen what kind of flowers were best to send to someone you'd gone on exactly zero dates when his intercom buzzed. 

"What?" he grumbled into the mic.

"Well, good afternoon to you too, you big grouch," Karen tutted. "You skipped lunch  _ again _ , I was just wondering if you wanted me to order something."

Maxwell glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten till three. Shit. He sighed and nodded. "Please. Cobb salad, and see if you can find the phone number for that florist on Sixteenth Street."

Karen was silent for a second and Maxwell could practically see her rolling her eyes. 

"Of course. What's her name?" she asked. There was a hint of a smile in her voice and Maxwell felt butterflies in his stomach. 

"Just get me the number, please," he said, hoping his tone wasn't too harsh. 

"Coming right up," she replied, her tone not any less chipper. 

Maxwell sat back in his office chair and ran a hand over his face as he let out a heavy sigh. He had to come up with some excuse to see Janine again. He wanted to, no, needed to see her again. He felt like he had completely fucked up by sending her money before he'd even spoken to her. 

Their last conversation had kept playing over and over in his head and he wanted to go back in time and slap himself stupid. 

_ "Just two people,"  _ Janine had said _.  _

Now Maxwell was left wondering if she'd ever speak to him again. If she'd want to even see him again. 

He'd gotten his bank statement in the mail a few days prior and noted the check hadn't been cashed yet. Maybe he could call and remind her that she had a limited window to cash it?

He'd figured that no, that sounds desperate. But he  _ was  _ desperate. He thought about her all the time.

Twenty minutes later, Karen let herself into Maxwell's office with a plastic salad bowl in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. She offered him a knowing smile as she passed both over his desk to him. 

A pink sticky note with a phone number scrawled on it was stuck to the lid of his salad bowl. 

"What's her name?" Karen asked again as she lowered herself into one of the plush chairs across from Maxwell. 

He glared at her, though his gaze held no venom. 

"Is this that girl you met in Gotham?" she asked, gesturing with one well-manicured finger. "What was her name? Velma?"

Maxwell couldn't help but scoff as he mixed his salad. "Please. She was a deplorable woman. If she ever calls here again, I don't know... threaten her with a lawsuit or something."

"Not Velma then," Karen hummed. She thought for a minute and then gasped. "Oh, Mr. Lord, don't tell me you're taking after your partners and chasing after your interns!"

He shook his head. "Don't you have a front desk to watch? Phone calls to take? Seriously, I think I hear the phone ringing right now."

Karen chuckled and raised her hands as she stood up. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just curious. You know me! I'll let you get back to it then."

Maxwell picked up the sticky note and reached his phone to dial out. 

"Y'know," Karen said right before she closed the door. "If you're not sure what to do, you can't go wrong with one or two roses."

Maxwell looked down at the number and then sighed as he dialed out to the shop.

"Janine!!!" Abby, the resident ballet instructor squealed as she nudged open the door to the back office with her hip. "Janine! A package came for you!"

Janine looked up from her appointment book at Abby as she hung in the doorway. She could see a few other instructors behind her, all whispering excitedly about something.

"What's going on?" she asked as she stood up. She grabbed her sweater from the back of the chair and went out into the main room. 

"These just came for you!" Abby said happily as she gestured to the front desk. 

Janine looked over at the desk and felt her cheeks grow warm at what she saw. 

On the front desk were two red roses in a halo of baby's breath in a simple glass vase. 

"Who's it from?" she asked, looking at each of the girls in the room, hoping one of them saw who'd dropped it off. "Ugh, it wasn't Warren, was it?"

"Nah, looks like it was just a normal florist," Laurie said, shaking her head. She leaned across the desk to try and reach for the card to read it. "It just says it's from 'M.'"

"Oh, Janine!" Abby squealed, hugging her tightly. "You have a secret admirer!"

Janine smiled a bit and tried to hide her blush as the chorus of "Aww's" filled the studio. She had a good idea of who had sent the flowers, but she just wanted to be sure so she didn't look like a fool if she were wrong. 

She knew getting ahold of him by phone as an outsider would be next to impossible, but she knew that if she hung around the building long enough, maybe she would see him leaving for the day. She glanced down at her watch and then back at the flowers on the desk. 

They had to be from him. Janine didn't know anyone else whose name started with an M.

She knew she couldn't dwell on it too much until the afternoon. Thankfully, a few of her aerobics classes would distract her all morning and most of the afternoon.

Four o'clock finally rolled around and she didn't waste any time to bother changing her clothes. She quickly waved to Laurie and rushed out the door, headed up the sidewalk towards the golden-paneled building a few blocks up. 

Afternoon traffic was already backing up the street and Janine was able to easily cross over to the other side when she neared the office building where Maxwell's company was located. Of course it was rhe biggest building in the city.

A few men in suits and expensive looking light jackets were hanging around the entrance to the building and Janine hung back a bit as she approached the doors. She suddenly realized that she had no idea which floor his office was located on, and she couldn't exactly march up to the front desk and ask security either. That typically didn't always go well.

Janine walked over to a nearby cement planter that was filled with tall decorative grasses. She hoisted herself up onto the edge so she would have a clear view of the main entrance to the office building.

Half an hour went by and Janine was starting to feel like an idiot for even coming down. He probably hadn't even sent those flowers, now that she thought about it. Maxwell hadn't come out to get in a fancy car or anything like that and she knew he probably didn't drive himself around. But she still felt silly.

After another fifteen minutes had passed, she was contemplating just leaving and going to grab some Chinese to take back to her apartment for the night. The revolving door to the building opened and a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair stepped out onto the sidewalk. She glanced around the courtyard where Janine was sitting and smiled at her as she started to walk towards the street to hail a cab. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" the blonde woman called out to her. 

"Yeah, he works here, but I don't think he's coming out," she replied with a sigh. Janine jumped down from the planter and walked over to the woman at the curb.

"Men are usually all the same," the woman chuckled. "Don't get yourself worked up over a guy. It's the 1980s, sweetheart, you don't need a man if you don't want." A cab pulled up to the curb and the blonde woman reached down to open the door. 

"This one seemed different," Janine hummed. "I wanted to thank him. He sent some flowers to my work today for me and I wanted to thank him."

The woman straightened suddenly and turned back towards Janine. "He sent you flowers? Roses?"

Janine nodded, a little confused. "Y-yeah. Two of them."

"So you're the mystery girl he won't tell me about," the woman chuckled. She looked into the cab and handed him a ten so he would stop protesting that the meter was running. She held her hand out to Janine. "Karen Reynolds. I'm Mr. Lord's secretary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read this on here - I appreciate it! <3


	4. Chapter 4

"M-mystery girl?" Janine stammered, completely caught off guard by her statement. 

Her cheeks turned bright red when Karen mentioned she was Maxwell's secretary. She really didn't think anyone would directly inquire her about what she was doing there. And then there was that comment.  _ Mystery girl _ .

Karen gave a warm smile and patted Janine on the arm. "Mr. Lord's had this glassy look in his eyes for the last few weeks. He mentioned ordering flowers today and I realized instantly he'd taken notice in someone. Even powerful men like him can fall hard."

"Fall?"

"Oh, I've said enough already. What's your name, honey?"

"Uhh, it's Janine."

"Janine, it was so nice to meet you," Karen said as she slid into the backseat of the cab. "I hope to see you soon!"

The cab pulled away from the curb and Janine was left standing on the curb, completely dumbfounded. She didn't even notice she had been standing there like a statue until a cab honked at her, startling her from her stupor. 

She pulled open the door, gave the cabbie her address and sat back as he pulled into traffic. So Maxwell was thinking about her? Obviously that much was true, considering he'd sent her flowers. How would she even get ahold of him to thank him? He knew how to contact her, but she didn't know how to find him. 

Twenty minutes later, the cabbie pulled up to the little apartment that sat above a surprisingly delicious pizzeria. She handed him her cab fare and got out, making sure not to leave anything behind before she fished for her keys in the pocket of her windbreaker. 

The bell jangled in the pizza shop door and Mr. Russo, the large, balding Italian man that owned the whole building popped his head out. "Home early again, Janie?"

Janine smiled as she stuck the key in the lock. "Yeah, again."

"You need to go on a date," he tutted, wagging his finger playfully at her.

She chuckled and shook her head. "And  _ you  _ still need to fix that leaky faucet in my bathroom,  _ and  _ the squeaky floorboard on the landing..."

Mr. Russo chuckled and swatted his hand at her. "Ehh, I'll get to it. In the meantime, come down in ten minutes, I'll have a fresh pie for you, okay?"

Janine nodded and nudged her door open with her hip. "Extra mushrooms and pepperoni, please!" she called over her shoulder before the door swung shut. 

She bounded up the narrow staircase and flung her bag to the floor, followed soon after by her jacket and her tennis shoes. Her apartment was dark, and she padded over to the light switch in the hall. She flipped it on and blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the light that flooded her apartment. 

Janine had left the roses at the office that day; she knew she wasn't coming home directly after work and she didn't want to ruin them. Now that she was home, however, she wished she'd brought them to brighten the place up a little. It always surprised people when they came over at how bleak her living space was. It didn't match her personality at all. 

She grabbed a can of Tab out of her fridge and walked into the bedroom to change her clothes. She kept thinking about what the receptionist, Karen, had said.

Did Maxwell talk about her often enough that his employees knew who she was?

The thought made her bite her lip. How did he talk about her? She hoped it wasn't anything like how her friends talked about him. They said he was rude and pushy. Laurie said she dated a guy like him in college, and that he was an absolute monster. 

But the few interactions she'd had with Maxwell didn't make him seem like a monster. If anything, he was a little awkward and unsure about how to interact with people. 

Janine wished she could talk to him for more than a few minutes at a time. He never seemed like he was able to sit still. 

The last time she'd seen him, she hadn't exactly been cordial with him. Still, he seemed like he wanted to keep getting to know her, if the flowers were any indication.

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the painting that hung on her wall. She chewed her lip for a moment until she got an idea. 

Janine went back out to her living room and stood up on tiptoes to get the yellow pages out of the coat closet, where it sat collecting dust beneath an ancient Clue game. It wasn't often that she used the phone book. Most of the numbers she used daily were scribed onto a legal pad beside her telephone.

She quickly scanned the "L" section, hoping that just maybe by some stroke of sheer luck, his name was printed there.  _ Lamarr, Lacour... Lorenzo. _

"Shit," Janine sighed. She shut the phone book with a thud and tossed it onto the coffee table. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. It didn't surprise her that he wouldn't be in the phone book. She couldn't exactly look up David Bowie in the yellow pages, why would Maxwell Lord be in there?

She glanced at the clock on her stereo and realized it had been fifteen minutes since she got home. Mr. Russo would have her food ready and, as kind as he was, he was very punctual and didn't like to be kept waiting. 

Janine pushed herself off the couch and went back down the stairs to the shop.

_ Let's Make A Deal!  _ was blaring from the wall-mounted TV and Carla, the teenage niece of Mr. Russo, grinned at Janine when she walked in. She cashed out Janine's order and leaned across the counter towards her.

"Sky and I are going to the Depeche Mode concert next week!" she squealed. 

Janine picked her pizza box off the counter and rested it against her hip. "That's awesome! I thought it was sold out?"

Carla shook her head. The long earrings she wore jangled noisily against her cheeks. "Sky's older brother knows a guy that works at the arena - front row tickets!"

"That's so cool! You girls are gonna have a great time," Janine said with a smile.

"I'll tell you all about it!" she said, dancing in place.

"I can't wait to hear about it!" she said, turning to call into the kitchen. "Thanks for the pizza, Mr. Russo!"

There was a response from the kitchen that Janine only vaguely registered as she turned to head back out the door. Just as her hand brushed the door handle, the TV caught her eye. 

Maxwell Lord was grinning down at her, hands clenched in victory. The closed captioning was a few seconds behind, but Janine knew the commercial well enough to know he was on his bullshit spiel about achieving greatness through hard work blah blah blah.

"God, I can't stand that guy," Carla sneered. She picked up her magazine and rolled her eyes. "I'm just sick of looking at him."

Janine bit her lip as she watched the commercial. It was longer than it usually was, most likely the extended versions they played from time to time. He had the money for primetime advertising. Might as well use it.

Carla glanced over at Janine and snorted. "Seriously? I know that look, Jay. It's the same look Sky gives to her poster of that other guy from Van Halen. Gross!"

Janine shrugged and continued to watch the commercial. Looking at it now, it was easy to see that the Maxwell on TV was just an act. It always seemed super fake and put on but now that Janine had met him, the real him, she realized something. The awkward guy who she saw standing outside her studio was more genuine than the man on TV.

She just wished she knew how to get in contact with him. 

Janine slid the pizza box on the rickety card table she used for a dining room table and went to turn the television on. She was surprised to see the red light from the answering machine blinking up at her. She was absolutely sure there weren't any messages when she'd come home a bit ago.

She turned from the TV and pressed the playback button on the machine.

"Hello? Hello? Talk louder, I can't hear you! Haha, gotcha! This is Janine, I can't come to the phone right now, or I don't feel like talking to you. Leave your phone number, maybe I'll get back to you."  _ Beep.  _

There was an awkward pause on the other end for a moment before the caller spoke up. 

"Uh... Janine. This is Maxwell. Uh, Maxwell Lord. I, uh, hope you got the flowers. I hope it wasn't too much or anything like that - I wasn't trying to be too forward. If you want, I'd really like to be able to take you to dinner some time."

Janine lowered herself into the chair beside the phone and quickly reached for the pen and sticky notes she kept by the answering machine. She scribbled down his phone number as he mumbled it off, her cheeks flaring as he murmured, "Hope to see you soon," before he ended the call.

Pizza forgotten, she picked up the receiver and dialed it quickly. She assumed that someone else would pick up; maybe a fancy butler with a British accent, or to her horror, another woman. Maybe he wouldn't pick it up at all?

Maxwell himself picking up the phone barely made the top 5 of what she expected to happen when the phone stopped ringing.

"Hello?" His voice was instantly recognizable. 

"Maxwell," she said softly. She bit her lip when she waited for his response. 

"I didn't think you were gonna call me back," he chuckled. "I got your machine and thought you were upset or something."

"I..." Janine hesitated for a second. "I was downstairs getting food. I actually wanted to call you earlier. But I---"

Maxwell swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. "You did?"

"You aren't in the phone book."

He chuckled and smiled to himself at how sincere she sounded. The ache in his chest dissipated slightly at the fact that  _ she  _ wanted to call  _ him. _

"I haven't been in the phone book for a few years now," he replied. "It would be ringing off the hook if I was still listed there."

Janine paused and then sighed. "Did you mean it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"In the message you said you want to take me to dinner. Did you mean it?"

"Of course, why would I lie about that?" Maxwell was slightly offended that she thought he was lying. Then he felt  _ angry  _ that maybe someone lied to her about it in the past. 

"Sorry, I just... sorry. Uh... I'm free on Friday night. If you wanted to go then?"

Maxwell swore his heart stopped. "Friday. Friday! Yes, that's -- yes. Friday is great." 

Janine almost laughed at how eager he seemed.

"What should I wear?" Janine got the sinking feeling she would be drastically underdressed for wherever Maxwell decided to take her.

"A dress," he said, after he thought for a moment. He quickly added, "The color doesn't matter."

Janine smiled and nodded. "Okay... I'll see you Friday."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Sounds great. I -- I can't wait."

"I'll pick you up, okay?"

"Wait!" Janine nearly shouted, "You don't know where I live." 

She could almost hear the smile in his voice at his reply before he disconnected.

"You're in the phone book."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you!!! I'm so grateful that people read my fics. I know I don't post on a regular schedule or anything but thank you for putting up with me!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Thunderdome, this is not edited. I farted this nonsense out in like an hour this morning. Not edited, not beta'd HELLO. I made Maxwell sound like a Perv oopsie I'm only half sorry?
> 
> I said i would NOT write for this bastard man until I saw the movie but.. *gestures broadly at everything*


End file.
